


The Wandering Lost

by z0mbieshake



Series: Unfinished Panlix Archive [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moving On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 22:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15592134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/z0mbieshake/pseuds/z0mbieshake
Summary: The longer a soul lingers in Hell, the more they'll wither away before they're nothing but wandering husks. Felix nearly meets this horrible fate until an unknown man rescues him in more ways than he ever imagined.





	The Wandering Lost

When a soul starts to forget the world they once came from, when they lose their purpose, they begin to wander, searching for scraps of their past life, believing they could find themselves if they scoured every inch of the underworld. Soon enough, that belief fades as well and the soul wanders for nothing. No purpose, no future, _no hope_ , just a lingering urge to search and search and search.

It was a pitiful fate, Felix thought. It was a fate he would never want to subject himself to. _Was that even his choice?_ Fear of becoming lost made Felix scribble on a worn notebook he found in the trash, made him scribble the names of his Lost Boys, _the traitors he swore revenge on_ , the names of the Neverland landmarks, the names of the heroes that tore him from his island.

_The name of the person who killed him._

Felix’s breath hitched at the thought, finger shaking as he pressed his pen to the paper. His killer’s name was staring back at him at the top of the page and it was nearly as effective as his gaze. It pained him to turn the page, find an empty scrap, and continue listing out the fauna of Neverland.

 

Day after day, Felix lived on the street, sitting on worn blankets and cloth scraps he had stolen from the denizens of the underworld. He blew into his hands, the holes in his gloves robbing them of the ability to keep him warm. In a hopeless attempt to maintain his warmth in this hellish nightmare, Felix bundled himself up tighter, pulling on his hood and curling up in his oversized sweater.

_Here they are again_. Felix averted his gaze, watching feet shamble by in utter silence. The worst part about the lost souls was that Felix was starting to identify them. They had done so many rounds, so many _hopeless_ marches, Felix had become familiarized with them. He shut his notebook, curling up on his eyes, and forcing himself to sleep, anything to get away from this miserable image.

 

Felix ran out of ink. In his hopeless attempt to maintain his sanity, Felix had run out of ink scribbling down the games the Lost Boys played. It shouldn’t have affected him; he could always get another pen but the thought that he wasted his time writing down such pointless words struck him hard. The paper tore to scraps easily. Felix cried in agony as if each tearing page gave him pain. He sobbed pathetically, bent over as he gripped into his hair, nearly tearing chunks off.

_How long was he down here?_ How long has he been writing down pointless words and facts to keep his sanity? It made him wonder again about the lost souls. He was no longer sure that their minds had slipped away. Perhaps they chose to cast it away, anything to stop the pain that came with _longing for life_.

“No, no, no, no…” Felix mumbled, curling up against the wall, holding his hands over his ears while his knees folded to his chest. If he made himself smaller, would he be able to hide from his emptiness?

A hand caressed his back, but he didn’t sit up. A soft voice whispered into his hair, “It’s okay,” The voice spoke, heavily accented but light and gentle, “Everything will be okay,” The voice pulled him back, slowly and softly.

“It won’t,” Felix choked out, voice dry and weak as he buried himself in his blankets, letting the man continue stroking his back in circles, “ _It won’t_.”

“Breathe, breathe,” The man said, voice low, arms circling him, comforting him, “Come on, let’s go back to your notes. Come on, what’s the first name?”

A scrap was placed in front of Felix’s face where he remained crumpled over. It didn’t make sense, but Felix had no capacity to understand. He sniffled, scrubbing tears off with his sleeve, taking slow breaths at the same pace the man stroked his back. He swallowed, wetting his lips, “…Slightly, Ace, Pockets…”

“Good, good. Keep going.”

 

The man was gone and soon enough, so was the temporary peace he had bestowed upon Felix. The pieces of his notebook were gone, no doubt swept away by the wind or more wandering souls, the same souls that wandered in front of Felix now. He never realized how therapeutic they were to watch, like a salve numbing the dull, hollow pain in his chest, pain that he could no longer identify the source for. His killer’s name was a distant thought, so was Neverland.

_Don’t forget. Don’t ever forget_. The words couldn’t escape Felix’s lips. He was limp against the stone, seeing the same ash-haired woman walk by with an empty look on her face. The expression didn’t frighten him anymore just like how it stopped terrifying him in the past. Like a lingering wound, he had become accustomed to it. If anything, it started to give him an odd sense of hope. _Maybe he could find his notebook scraps if he followed them._

_Maybe he could find a way back to Neverland._

_Maybe he could find a friend._

_Maybe he could be happy._

_Maybe there’s hope._

_Maybe._

_Maybe._

_May-_

“Stop!”

Felix flinched, blinking several times, the scarlet of the sky coming into focus. He hadn’t even realized the _colour_ fading from his sight. He fought against the arms around him, yanking forward with strength he thought he had lost with atrophy. He was shouting, gasping, _alive_ , as he pulled away and nearly fell against the brick wall. He turned his gaze, seeing a scruffy looking man with such beautiful blue-green eyes, it almost made him forget that he had died.

Felix stuttered, trying to form words but still grappling with what just happened. The man wasn’t shaking, his words were firmer, “You were following them, the lost souls,” The man’s head twitched towards the crowd of lost souls wandering behind him, “You can’t join them. You absolutely can’t.”

It was the man from before; Felix recognized him by his voice. He swallowed weakly, unable to believe that he had nearly joined them. He peered back at his burrow, not even realizing he had stood up and wandered so far from it. The confusion was fading and with it, the cause of his suffering returned. The pain was back, gnawing at him.

“Is it really that bad?” Felix choked out, gripping at his chest, confirming a heartbeat that shouldn’t exist, “Joining them?”

The man stepped forward so Felix recoiled but the stranger didn’t back down, “There’s nothing out there but they’ll never understand. There’s absolutely nothing of their past selves left in there. You don’t want to be a husk, not like them.”

“Is that really so bad?” Felix snapped.

The man would try to convince him otherwise, convince him to stay as stupid, pathetic Felix, so Felix _ran_. Leaving behind his burrow, the few belongings he had in a worn backpack, Felix ran as fast as he could against the wandering souls, anything to get away from the man that reminded him of himself. Felix didn’t want to be himself, didn’t want to remember. He wanted to be like the lost souls, husks devoid of anything, especially _pain._

All his pain, both mental and physical, was caused by being himself, _being Felix_.

Felix collapsed against what appeared to be an abandoned bakery. He dropped to his knees, clutching at his chest as his heart pounded furiously, breath heavy and quick. He wiped away the sweat on his forehead, nearly heaving into the dirt as he bent over. With his head down, he could notice the slightly scent of toasted bread from the bakery muddled by the scent of dust and dirt. _Could he always smell things in Hell?_

“You forgot this.”

Felix gasped, feet skidding on the ground as he leapt to his feet, eyes wild and amazed as he saw the man from before standing behind him holding a bundle of worn blankets and his backpack, remnant of magical smoke wafting away from him.

“Y-You know magic?” Felix murmured under his breath, eyes stuck on the fading mist before he whipped his things away from the man, “Don’t touch my things.”

“Someone could have taken it. Any personal belonging is a commodity down here,” The man said, hands sliding into his pockets, casually waiting as Felix threw the backpack over his shoulder and bundled the blankets together, “I’m Malcolm.”

Felix blinked several times, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as he spoke, “Felix,” He mumbled, eyes desperate to find something else to focus on, finding a rock at the side of the road the most interesting thing to stare at, “You didn’t—” He bit his cheek as he spoke, mouth snapping shut, mind muddled from the mental and physical atrophy, “Thank you.”

Malcolm gave him a small smile, nodding to him before taking a step back and turning away, walking off. Felix watched him dumbly, catching his thin mop of hair catching on a breeze he couldn’t feel.

 

Felix set up camp in the woods, far away from the streets so he wouldn’t see the lost souls wandering about anymore. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t sleep in the woods in the first place, the trees and nature made him feel more at home even if the leaves were brown and decayed. The relocation gave him more hobbies to distract him from his death. Plant fibres were abundant, allowing him to weave rope, tools, and miscellaneous toys. He had a fire going, the warmth keeping him pleasant company.

He blinked twice as he stared into the fire, fingers extending close to the flickering wisps, letting them singe the very tips of his fingers. He wondered how he possibly survived down here before without the heat, how bundling himself up in sweaters and blankets was enough before. He tossed a bundle of dried herbs into the fire, letting the peppery smoke fill the air with a sweet, earthy scent. A smile stretched on his face, eyes sliding shut as the scent wafted around him, taking him away briefly back to Neverland.

_“Felix.”_

Eyes snapping open, Felix fell upon a package wrapped up beside the fire in brown paper. He found it when he woke up, but he hadn’t touched it, too concerned with finishing up his rope and bundling up stray herbs he found in the forest. Without any other distractions, Felix took the package onto his lap and opened it slowly, absently smiling when he found _cookies_ hidden inside. They smelled of cinnamon and chocolate; they tasted even better.

Long ago, Felix could remember Pan having Hook and his crew bring back cake and cookies for the boys. He would never admit how happy it made him, how an offhand remark on how he never had sweets until Neverland inspired Peter to bring him cake from other worlds. When Felix ate the cake, when his face lit up with a youth he thought he lost so long ago, _Peter smiled at him,_ and it was in that moment Felix knew he fell in love with Peter Pan.

His breath hitched. The delicate cookie crumbled in his fingers and slipped into the dirt. Felix forced the bite in his mouth down with a dry swallow. He thought he had lost this memory, thought he’d have to chase it like the rest of the lost souls. He thought the memory would be harsher, painted in a bitter light after Pan’s—

Shutting his eyes, silencing his thoughts, Felix ate another cookie, distracting himself with the texture and flavour. The memories the gift came with were unimportant. Felix focused only on the present. It made life so much more bearable.

The next day, a thick, woolen blanket appeared beside him. The day after that, a large tent with a spit for his fire. The gifts always came when he was asleep, always appearing beside his fire neatly wrapped in brown paper. Felix pretended like he could accept not knowing who his secret admirer was even when it was killing him.

_It could be Peter_.

That single thought kept Felix awake, _alive_ , heart thrumming rapidly every time Hell mimicked the fall of night. This time, instead of dozing off by the fire, Felix kept his eyes open, fingers lightly gliding over a hunting knife under his bedroll. He kept his eyes shut while everything else was wide open, listening to every twitch in the forest, every gentle breeze, till he caught crunching leaves and snapping twigs coming at him in quiet succession.

Felix sprang when the steps met the blanket he had laid down as a makeshift carpet. He sprung alive, teeth bared as he took a fistful of coarse cloth and shoved forward, hearing the man’s garbled grunt as he tumbled backwards into a pile of leaves, groaning when Felix collapsed onto his stomach with a knife hovering over his face.

“Whoa, whoa!” Malcolm shouted, hands lifting in supplication, “Felix, it’s me!”

It took a moment before Felix remembered his face, “You,” He murmured. _The person that rescued him from the streets_. Felix snatched up the package beside the man as if he wasn’t even there, carving it open with his knife and finding a lantern inside, “Why?”

Sliding himself backwards on his elbows, Malcolm propped himself up against a tree as he cleaned himself off, “Thought it’d be helpful. Camping and all,” He smirked when Felix glared at him, “I know, I know. You want to know why I’m giving you things,” Felix nodded back, expression almost furious. Malcolm could do little else but shrug, “I felt like I was… meant to.”

“People aren’t nice for no reason,” Felix muttered quickly, standing up and tossing the lantern beside his bundle of firewood.

“Why not?” Malcolm replied, watching Felix lay back down on his bed roll, tucking the blanket all around himself.

“Please don’t,” Felix whispered, rolling onto his side away from Malcolm, “I don’t want to talk.”

He expected Malcolm to keep prodding, expected him to _irritate_ him till Felix gave in and poured out his secrets, secrets the older man would use against him. The man hummed instead, acknowledging his response, letting the boy doze off by the flickering fire.

 

Smoke was the first thing Felix smelled when he awoke. His eyes fluttered open, seeing a hunk of meat cooking on the spit over his fire. _Where did anyone get meat in this place?_ Felix sat up slowly, holding his blanket close as he spied the older man across from him grinding something in a bowl. He caught Felix’s eyes before the boy could pretend to be asleep.

The man’s smile was so infuriatingly gentle, “Hello again.”

Felix said nothing, eyes meeting the ground as he lay back down, pulling the blanket over his head.

“You can sleep in. Its not like we have places to be down here,” Malcolm said, tossing a bundle of branches into the fire pit.

Felix huffed loudly, dropping the blanket and staring at the red sky, “Why are you still here?”

“I’ve got no where else to be,” Malcolm replied, carefully cutting off pieces of meat onto a paper plate, “Do you?”

Being the Lost Boy Leader meant he was often overwhelmed with responsibilities. He wished he could say yes like he used to. He shook his head, finally looking over to the older man with a tired gaze, “I could use a slice.”

Quietly, the two dined on roast meat by the fire pit. The feeling was almost nostalgic till Malcolm cleared his throat loudly and reminded Felix of his company, “Not to be snooping around but when I was looking for utensils, I found this,” He reached behind the log he sat on, taking out a _straw doll in a blue jacket,_ “What’s this?”

Nearly hissing, Felix snatched the straw doll out from his hands, “Don’t touch my stuff.”

Malcolm lifted his hands to placate Felix once more, “Just wondering what it was.”

Felix didn’t want to look at this, didn’t even know why he kept it. _He knew exactly why. He was in denial_. His hands shook when he tried to throw the straw doll into the fire pit, flames compelling him to cut his ties with his once beloved but his heart refusing to do so. His heart, the same one that Peter crushed in his hands, was still desperately clinging to Peter.

“ _Hey_.”

Felix crushed his eyes shut, bowing his head and holding the straw doll against his forehead. He couldn’t move without shaking the peaceful _numbness_ he had worked so hard to build up, “I’m sorry,” He spoke to the lifeless doll as if beckoning the name could summon his master.

“Forget I said anything,” Malcolm said, stepping around the fire pit and sitting next to Felix, cautiously laying a hand on his back and rubbing slow circles, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go through your things,” He touched the doll, gently stroking Felix’s wrist, “Come on, let’s put this away.”

Flinching, Felix yanked away violently, leaping to his feet, “Don’t touch me!” He shouted, voice breaking, lip trembling, _eyes glistening_. He bit down on his lower lip, limbs tight against himself, trying to make himself small, trying to make the pain go away.

Malcolm stayed where he was, face solemn but soft. He stared at Felix in a way no one had ever looked at him. Felix was the leader; Felix was the senior lost boy. No one was supposed to look at him _concerned, worried_. His weakness was never supposed to show, “Stop it,” Felix mumbled out, “I don’t need _comfort._ I’m not weak,” Immediately, Malcolm’s mood changed. Felix blinked, watching the older man approach him, eyes smoldering and too beautiful, “Stay back,” Felix choked out, backing away as the older man closed in with a look that made his knees weak, “Stay back!” Felix repeated, gasping when Malcolm pulled him into a tight hug.

_Weak. Stupid. How could you lead the Lost Boys when you’re this pathetic? Seeking comfort from a grown-up. How could Pan ever accept you after this? You deserved to die. You’re not good enough for Pan._

“Shh,” Malcolm whispered into his ear, holding him firmly, one arm around his waist, the other petting his head gently while Felix melted in his arms, staring absently into the forest behind him.

“…Peter Pan.”

Malcolm hummed, guiding the doll to Felix’s side so he could hold him closer, “Who’s Peter Pan?”

“The doll. Its name is Peter Pan,” Felix whispered, shutting his eyes when he felt them sting.

Malcolm’s silence revealed his disbelief of Felix’s half-truth, “Did you love him?” Malcolm asked, feeling Felix’s arms creep around him, shaky as they returned the hug.

Felix hummed in acknowledgement, pressing his face into the man’s shoulder, accepting comfort that he so desperately wanted yet so desperately denied. It was foolish to think he could hide his love for Pan, “More than anything in the world.”

“It’s okay if you want to cry.”

_Lost boys don’t cry. You’re a leader. You’re an icon. You can’t let them see you snivelling like a baby. You can’t let them see you at your worst. You can’t. You can’t. You can’t._

“You can be weak, just for a little. I won’t yell at you.”

A strange, strangled sound came from Felix’s mouth. The sound was so unfamiliar, Felix wasn’t sure it came from him, but he found himself burying his face into Malcolm’s shoulder and clutching at him with all his strength. The pain of his death at Peter Pan’s hands finally bursting out from where he had buried it, deep inside of his heart. He wailed uncontrollably, making a mess of Malcolm’s shoulder, dropping the straw doll to the ground as he nearly dragged the older man onto the ground in hysteria.

Malcolm didn’t mind, carefully stroking his hair, comforting him.

 

 

“Sorry about the jacket,” Felix said, sitting on his bedroll while Malcolm prodded at the fire with a stick. He sniffled lightly, wiping at his reddened eyes, “Sorry about…you know.”

“It’s fine,” Malcolm said, turning around on his log to face Felix, the boy finally waking from his hysteria, “It’s good to just let it out. You know? If you hold it in for too long, you’ll forget why you were hurting in the first place and all you’ll have left is just the pain, none of the reason. That’s when it becomes impossible to get rid of.”

Felix nodded back weakly, kneading at the blanket weakly. He reached under the bedroll, picking up the straw doll and staring at it once more before holding it to his chest, feeling his heartbeat ripple through it.

“Was he your lover?” Malcolm asked.

“I don’t know,” Felix whispered, lifting the doll and staring at it, “I love him,” Felix spoke from the darkest part of him, “ _I miss him so much_ ,” Harsh kisses behind trees; quick, rough hands all over his body; a reassuring nod and a firm pat to the shoulder, but never spelling out their relationship in words. Felix knew it was a game, knew Pan liked stringing him along with the prospect of a relationship. He played along up until the moment Peter ended the game by crushing his heart, “But he…”

Malcolm waited patiently, sliding off the log so he could sit on the bedroll next to Felix, a gentle warmth comforting Felix with his proximity.

“He killed me,” Felix said, eyes wide and wild like he had lost his mind when those words registered in his mouth, “He killed me to start a curse, make himself king of his new Neverland.”

The older man clasped a hand on his shoulder, a careful rhythm as he stroked it and kept him anchored in reality, “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Felix said, lowering the doll and lifting his knees, hugging onto them around the fleece blanket, “Honestly,” An odd smile lifted Felix’s lips, “You’ve been more supportive than Pan ever had been.”

“That’s not true,” Malcolm said, “I’m sure you’ve had some happy memories. You’ve just forgotten.”

Felix shrugged. _Perhaps_ , but right now, Malcolm gave him much more happiness than Pan did, “I hope he’s happy being King of his Neverland.”

“I guarantee he isn’t,” Malcolm replied, smirking when Felix’s gaze met his, “How could anyone be happy after killing someone they loved?”

“He could. Peter could,” Felix blurted out. He blinked when he realized how hastily he responded, fingers kneading at the blanket till the threads were beginning to give, “I wasn’t good enough, not for him. That’s why he killed me,” His happy ending was worth more than Felix’s; it always would be, “ _Not good enough._ ”

Malcolm leaned in again, forehead nearly touching Felix’s as he spoke with a sad smile, “You look like you need another hug.”

His words were truthful and obvious but for some reason, Felix burst into quiet, sad laughter. He sighed before collapsing onto his bed roll, “It’s okay. I can take it.”

 

“Where do you get these things?” Felix asked as he propped the massive bell tent upward while Malcolm tied it down on spokes.

“You can find all sorts of things down here. Just need the magic to bargain for it,” Malcolm replied, fastening the ropes and yanking tight, “There.”

Climbing down from a stump, Felix stepped into the tent hesitantly, honestly surprised at how massive it was on the inside, “Why didn’t you use magic to set the tent up?”

“Its something of a limited commodity down here,” Malcolm replied, plopping himself down in front of the firepit situated directly outside the tent, “Can’t just use it willy nilly.”

“But you can just trade it off to get things for me?” Felix asked, brows knitting when he realized the lighthearted tone he had spoken his words with. A funny giggle slipped from Malcolm’s lips as the older man lazily wandered over, draping himself over Felix playfully, “W-What, stop that,” Felix muttered, scuttling away from Malcolm and fixing his hood over his head.

Malcolm giggled again, following Felix deeper into the tent with a coy look, “Maybe I’m just a generous person.”

Felix scoffed, backing away but slowing his steps, “Then you wouldn’t be down here.”

“Alright then,” Malcolm said, eyes narrowed and _seductive_ , “Maybe its because I like you. Maybe its because I think you’re really handsome.”

“As if,” Felix mumbled out, circling around Malcolm and exiting the tent, bundling up his bedroll and blanket to move them into the tent. His breath hitched when Malcolm was right up against him again, hovering over his shoulder, taking the lantern from the ground, “Back up. Now.”

Wrinkling his nose, Malcolm took a step back but otherwise kept himself as close to Felix as he could while respecting his space, “I’ll make you happy in a lot of ways. I swear it.”

Felix was unreadable, silent, and Malcolm knew he screwed up. Felix dropped the blankets in his arms, letting them fall to the ground in a heap. He turned around slowly, staring at Malcolm, irritated, “Do you want to fuck me? Is that what you’re after?” He grumbled out.

“What… no. God no,” Malcolm said, putting the lantern down and following Felix as he marched out of the tent, “I overstepped myself. Forget I said anything,” Felix wouldn’t look at him, “Felix!”

Felix huffed loudly, stopping at the edge of his camp, tucking his hands into his sweater pocket, “It’d be easier if you were. I understand that,” He sighed, chest heavy, “I’m going for a walk.”

“Can I come with you?” Malcolm asked. Felix’s answer was obvious, hence why Malcolm’s feet remained rooted in the camp.

The boy shook his head, whispering an excuse under his breath before breaking off and walking away. Malcolm was faithful to his promise, no where to be seen around him as he wandered into the false city.

  _Why was that man helping him?_ People don’t help others for nothing; he wanted something from Felix just like everyone else in his life. Even Peter Pan whom he gave his entire life to still wanted more and more: His loyalty, his love, his innocence, and finally his life. This man would be no different.

A breeze caught Felix’s hood, tossing it off his head. He shuddered as it robbed him of his warmth. He wanted to go back to his firepit but how could he after accepting that man into his life? In a fit of weakness, he let someone into his life, _a grown-up_. Peter taught him better.

“Get out of here!” A shrill, feminine voice shouted from afar.

Felix looked up, focusing on a frail woman in a scrappy black dress shooing off people hounding after her, attracted by the basket of cookies hanging from her arm. He swallowed, seeing how the denizens of hell desperately begged for the goods, anything for a taste of the living world. How many boxes of cookies had Malcolm gotten him? Three?

Even if he couldn’t trust the man, he couldn’t deny that he treated him well. He should return the favour, wipe away his debt to him as soon as he could.

 

“Malcolm?” Felix called out as he entered the campsite again, finding all his things relocated into the tent, creating an almost cozy-looking bedroom in the wild with the firepit raging out front. The older man had left and it made Felix’s chest ache just a bit.

“Felix!” The ache quickly turned into annoyance. Felix whipped around, narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brows to mask his relief with irritation. Malcolm approached him with a friendly look, carrying a bundle of stick under him, “Was getting fire wood. Thought maybe we should build a fence around here,” He stopped when Felix shoved a piece of paper into his chest, “Eh? What’s this?”

Felix turned away, pursing his lips, “I don’t like having an unpaid debt but I don’t have much to offer you down here,” He turned away when Malcolm opened the scrap, “You can make me do one thing for you, anything you want. That’s what the ‘contract’ means.”

The look on Malcolm’s face was precious, staring down at a hastily written note signed at the bottom with unexpectedly neat handwriting, “Ah, contract.”

“Don’t mock me,” Felix grumbled out, “I’m not kidding around. I’ll do anything you want me to,” He turned away, hiding a shameful expression, “I’ll even let you fuck me. That’s how serious it is.”

“You don’t have to do anything for me,” Malcolm said, folding the contract and approaching Felix.

The boy made eye contact with him finally, eyes firm and blazing silver, “I want to do this. Please.”

With a look like that, how could Malcolm deny him? The older man smiled sweetly to him, leaning in and pressing the contract to Felix’s lips, “Then I know my first request.”

 

“ _Tell me about Peter Pan.”_

The request caught Felix off-guard. He figured the memories would be too painful to recall but when he started from the beginning, he found himself unable to stop. Laying in the tent beside one another on a mattress Malcolm had salvaged, Felix spoke of the immortal demon boy, god of his own island, rescuing lost boys from their miserable fates, especially Felix’s. Trapped in an asylum decorated with the title of “Mercy Home” when it was anything but, Felix figured he’d die here, driven into madness by the cruel orderlies that sold him like merchandise, breaking his head in on the floor when it was too much to handle. Peter saved him, breaking through a barred window before they could drive a spike into Felix’s eye, their sudden horror of a _magical creature_ diverting the spike into Felix’s cheek, scarring him, _marking him as Pan’s forever._

A boy that could control night and day flippantly and preferred to stretch the nights, so the boys had more time to party before returning to their day chores. A boy who touched him like a friend, _held him like a lover_ , and treated him like a leader. Even now, even after everything, the memories were so precious, so painful.

“I…Sorry,” Felix stopped, rubbing his hands over his eyes, “I was rambling on. Didn’t even ask if that was what you wanted to know.”

“It’s fine,” Malcolm said, smiling absently, head lolled to the side to stare at him, “That was exactly what I wanted to know. You can stop if its getting painful.”

Felix shook his head, lowering his hands and meeting Malcolm’s gaze, “No. It’s okay,” He took a slow breath, “Peter always knows what he’s doing. If he killed me to win, then he made the right choice,” His fingers curled, tightened in a ball, digging into his hand, “It’s my fault for not being good enough for him, for being undesirable. I deserve being down here,” Felix flinched when fingers brushed against his cheek, settling behind his neck. His breath was still, quivering slightly under the touch, “What?”

“Don’t say that. Don’t even think about it,” Malcolm murmured, voice low as he scooted over, “Talk about the happy times back on Neverland. Talk about the Lost Boys. Talk about Peter Pan before the hourglass dwindled.”

His death would always loom over him, sneaking into his memories. Felix’s lip quivered at the thought, “I’ll try,” He whispered, shutting his eyes, stuttering out the names of all the Lost boys, how they looked, what their role was. Malcolm was calm, patient, waiting as Felix’s mantra gave him peace once more.

Malcolm let Felix continue, recounting more and more memories about Peter Pan flying him through the skies, eating beside him by the fire, curled up intimately in their treehouse. Malcolm’s eyes were locked onto his, hypnotized by the breathy movement in his chest, the flickering shyness in his eyes, the way his lips curl at every pleasing word, _every time he spoke Peter’s name_. Malcolm smiled unconsciously, waiting for Felix to pause before asking, “Do you still love him?”

Calm in a way he hadn’t been for a while, Felix found it easy to respond, “More than anything.”

“Do you want to see him again?” Malcolm asked, twitching when Felix’s failed to respond, eyes suddenly blank, “Felix?”

The boy kneaded at the mattress, eyes darting away, brows knitting together weakly. He shook his head slowly, “I’m not ready for that.”

“Why not?” Malcolm asked in a hushed voice as if speaking any louder would scare Felix away.

“I don’t want to know,” Felix said, “The last thing I learned before I died was that he loved me most. I don’t want to know what that really means. I just want to believe that he loved me as much as I loved him,” Felix hadn’t realized it, but his hand had taken Malcolm’s, searching for comfort as he choked his darkest secrets out.

The older man closed in, pressing a kiss to Felix’s forehead before resting his chin on top of his head, cradling him close with both his arms, “Then believe that,” He purred, relaxing in the bed and happy when Felix did the same, “Thank you for the stories.”

“What about you?” Felix asked, one hand tracing the man’s worn leather jacket, “Why are you down here?”

Malcolm slide back, allowing him to stare into Felix’s inquisitive expression as he spoke, “My son killed me. Stabbed me in the chest and left me to die. I guess I deserved it, abandoning him and all. I thought once he grew up, I’d be done with him. He proved me wrong.”

“I see,” Felix said, “Do I remind you of your son?”

“What? God no,” Malcolm snapped suddenly, an awkward chuckle on his breath, “Don’t get the wrong idea here. I _still_ hate my son. He’s not the reason I’m still in limbo.”

His reaction was amusing enough to earn a snicker from Felix despite how morbid the subject matter was. Felix rolled onto his back, hands under his head casually, “Just curious. I still don’t know why you’re here with me.”

“I told you already, didn’t I?” Malcolm replied, “I like you a lot. The moment I saw you, even at your worst, I knew I had to help you,” His smile brightened when Felix turned back towards him, “I knew we had to be together.”

“We’re dead,” Felix said abruptly, tone attempting to be humorous, “There’s no future for us here.”

“We can still move on, can’t we?” Malcolm asked, “And I want to move on with you. Just the two of us,” Taking Felix’s hand once more, grasp confident as he placed it against his heart, “Would that be okay?” He placed a finger over Felix’s lips when the boy averted his eyes, a telltale sign that he was unsure of himself, “You don’t need to answer right away.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> What would have happened:
> 
>   * Felix and Malcolm grows closer as friends, sharing secrets. Felix eventually mentions that he hopes Peter succeeded, not because he wanted him to, but because it'd delay having to face him once again. Or worse, Felix couldn't bear if Peter died but never bothered looking for him
>   * Malcolm has an obsession with listening to Felix's heartbeat, for obvious reasons
>   * As their friendship fully realizes itself, Felix finds the strength to condemn Peter, telling him that he has a real friend now, just on the cusp of finally moving on. He wants to help Malcolm move on first before he leaves
>   * But of course, Felix learns the truth when he tries calling Peter with the underworld phone: Peter is already dead and is in fact, disguised as Malcolm
>   * This nearly leads to a complete 180, Felix nearly losing his soul again, thinking he was being tricked once more. Peter, dropping the disguise, locks Felix up in his house, doing everything he can to convince him that this isn't a game, he just wants to help Felix move on
>   * Cue Peter walking Felix through his past, reuniting him with the graves of the Lost Boys, returning his happiness to him before finally sending him off. Peter remains though, knowing that he has penance to pay off before he gets to move on
> 



End file.
